Drowning
by Nat1
Summary: He hadn’t been able to drown himself in drink this time, so he was going to drown himself in her. Post Pilot


On the night Jason Street was paralysed, Tyra had to work the after game shift. First game of the season meant a busy night for Applebee's, people would normally swarm in from the field all night long, celebrating the win.

The difference this Friday night was that although the Panther's won, the quarterback had been seriously injured and that was all anyone could talk about. Well that and Matt Saracen's bad start on the field. What would usually be a loud, raucous crowd was quiet, their voices rarely rising above a murmur.

But there were still enough people in the restaurant that Tyra was kept busy. She didn't have the time or energy to worry about what was happening at the hospital. She didn't have to sit in that waiting room, watching the team's restless energy or the staff rushing back and forth. She didn't have to watch Tim, standing against a wall, holding himself apart from the rest of the world waiting to hear about his best friend.

They stopped serving at 12 and by the time all the stragglers had left and she'd finished clean up and count out, it was 1.30am when she climbed into her truck. She went by the hospital and saw a few vehicles, the Street's, Lyla's and Coach Taylor's, but most people had probably been hunted out of the waiting rooms by hospital staff.

She continued on, driving the familiar roads home, streetlights illuminating bright circles of dirt and tarmac on an otherwise dark moonless night. There were no people in the streets, and only a rare light shone through house windows. She pulled into her driveway, shutting the truck off, engine ticking loudly in the suddenly still air. Her Mama had left the porch light on and sitting to the side of the direct glare she sees Tim raise a bottle and tip his head back, more than half the brown liquid of whatever liquor was on sale already gone.

"Any word on Jason?" Her voice is soft, carrying lowly over the slow ticking of her truck engine as Tim shakes his head no. "I just gotta take the keys in."

Tim puts his head back against the cheap wooden panelling and lifts the bottle again when she opens the front door. There is minimal light when she put the truck keys into the lopsided pottery bowl she made in middle school that sits on the same table as the dim lamp in the entrance way. Tyra slips into her room, quickly grabbing a change of clothes, flicking the lamp off as she makes her way back outside, turning off the porch light before closing the door behind her.

Tim pulls himself to his feet, crowding her as they go down the steps of her porch and over the dirt yard where grass refuses to grow. He holds out his hand to her, keys to his truck cupped in trembling fingers, and Tyra finally sees his truck sitting in front of the next house over, away from the bright spot of a streetlight.

The screech of the truck's doors when they open sounds abnormally loud in the silence, and Tyra has to close the driver side door twice when she doesn't slam it hard enough the first time.

The quickest and easiest way to get to the Riggins' house is past the hotel where the away team from Westerbury are staying. It's not until Tim throws his liquor, smashing the bottle to small pieces against the team bus parked out front, that Tyra realises drinking isn't solving Tim's problems. Tim makes sure his life stays simple, he never messes with anything or anyone that could complicate his routine, he will always take the easy way out, willingly floating through his life in a haze of alcohol that has never failed him before.

His head is flung back and his body slack when Tyra pulls into the driveway. She reaches out to shake him awake and his hand snaps up, unnaturally fast in her eyes, grabbing her wrist in a harsh grip that pinches her skin. He looks at her, eyes dark in the shadow of the pickup cabin, his grip loosens when she grabs her bag and he pulls her along the bench seat and out the passenger side door.

The stoop light bulb has been blown for months, but the living room light shines brightly though the windows even though Billy's truck isn't anywhere to be seen. Tim hauls her by the wrist through the front door, abruptly letting her go when he trips over his game bag that Billy must have brought home and dropped just inside the doorway. He kicks it out of his way as he moves towards the kitchen and Tyra closes the door behind them, thinking the same thought she always does, that the Riggins' must have been raised in tents cause none of them ever closed a house door behind them. Just like her Daddy used to tease her about when she was young and in too much of a hurry.

She watches as Tim bypasses the beer in the refrigerator, reaching for the Jim Beam in the pantry. He sits at the breakfast bar, shoulders slumped, back rounded, elbows on the bar with his head in his hands just looking at the unopened bottle of brown sitting in front of him.

The stink of her work clothes finally becomes too much for her to overlook so she grabs up her bag and pulls the bathroom door shut behind her after getting a clean flannel shirt out of Tim's cupboard. The only thing she hates at Tim's house is the hot water heater's ancient system. It's a on a timer, only working at certain hours of the day so Tyra showers quickly in the water that's left in the tank, water running more to cold than luke warm.

Shivering and dressed in Tim's flannel, she returns to his room to get underwear out of her bag and a pair of his sweats, only Tim is sitting on the side of his bed in his t-shirt and boxer briefs and she pauses. Tyra wonders at the fact that he's in here without the bourbon, instead of still sitting at the breakfast bar attempting to drink himself into a stupor. She moves to get her panties out of her bag only to be stopped by his voice.

"No." She turns to him, eyebrows rising in question as he slowly looks up from where his eyes were on her naked ass, his flannel barely touching the tops of her thighs. "Take the shirt off."

He leans back on his arms as his eyes refuse to meet hers, instead staring hard at the top button of his shirt on her and Tyra finally gets it. He hadn't been able to drown himself in drink this time, so he was going to drown himself in her.

Heat flashes through Tyra's cold body and her shivering hardens to a shake. Normally she would shake his words off, turn it into something teasing and fun, something she could control. But she can see the tension in his shoulders and his tight lip line and knows that he needs something she isn't going to be able to give him in their normal fashion. So Tyra doesn't grin and sass him, she reaches up, slowly unbuttoning the flannel shirt as she moves to stand in front of him between his knees, doing what he tells her, hoping it's the right choice.

She pulls the shirt down off her arms and drops it on his feet where he kicks it away. Her skin still cold from the shower, flushing pink under his shadowed eyes, her nipples hard and her goosebumps rising again when his hands grab her hips and pull her to him.

Tim presses his face into her stomach, his hot skin and damp breath makes her stomach tighten and harden beneath him. He wraps his arms around her, pulling her closer, burying his face deeper as his thighs press her legs together and Tyra relaxes against him, her stomach softening so that he sinks further into her.

This is him. It's just her Tim. Same as he's ever been, with his familiar smell and grip, the same high body temperature against her cold skin again. This is nothing that hasn't happened hundreds of times before. She's one of only three people that she knows he will show his weakness to.

She runs her hands through his hair, it's clean and still wet from his after game shower and the cold night air, but not sweat-soaked for a change. She tugs lightly at it, pulling fingerfuls of hair, massaging his scalp like she knows he likes. His mouth opens on her skin, his tongue hot and wet against her as his teeth scrape against her ribs when he tilts his head up. His fingers dig into her back, one hand walking up her side so he can pull her down onto his lap, the other grips at her thigh before he pulls at her knee to make her straddle him.

Tim drags her into a kiss before she's ready for it. It's hard and it hurts and she leans into it but he's gone again and she's left gasping for air in his ear while he marks her pale white neck with bright pink teeth imprints that will fade by morning. He tilts her head with one thumb under her chin, pressing up so that she rises higher on her knees, stretching to move where he pushes her. He bites at the hollow of her throat and lets her chin go to rest on the top of his head. Tyra is still at an awkward angle when he pushes at her shoulders to lean her back as he leans into her.

His teeth scrape her nipples, hard from the cold and the heat both. He digs his teeth in and it should hurt, but his whole mouth is working her, sucking dark red hickeys over her breasts as her gasps turn to moans. She writhes on his lap, so wet against him it's soaked through his boxers where he thrusts up at her, chafing against the thin material that separates them.

Her back starts to ache and she realises it isn't from the angle, it's from his fingers digging in. She pushes forward, but he pushes back, insistent against her, his hands moving to her shoulders to hold her still. She achieves her aim though and her back burns as blood flows through the aching muscles and under whitened skin.

He moves back when he's ready, as they both slow down and he looks her in the eyes for the first time since before they got out of the truck. His eyes say _please_ and he begs her with them. She nods yes, _anything you need_.

He grabs her upper arms and swings her off his lap and onto her back on his bed. He rips his shirt off over his head and follows her down. His hips are hugged by her thighs as he lies heavily on her, his movements are slow and tense, restrained anger and lust fighting for dominance. Tyra knows he will probably hurt her, but it won't be deliberate and she's willing to pay the price he needs to have this release. Especially if it means that he's here, safe with her and not out picking a fight with everyone and anyone who crosses his path.

She parts her lips to whisper the words that maybe he hasn't seen in her eyes when Tim moves against her again, his mouth covering hers. He wriggles against her, pulling his boxers down and she uses her feet to drag them off his legs before he grabs her hips and pushes into her hard and fast.

Tyra's gasp of surprise and discomfort is swallowed by his mouth on hers, but he can see it in her wide eyes. He doesn't slow down or give her time to adjust, just closes his eyes against her tears and pulls his mouth away, moving to put more marks on her neck as his body moves harder against hers. Her adjustment to his rough treatment is faster than expected and she blinks back the unshed tears, moaning when he pins her arms above her head and hits her sweet spot.

Tim's thrusts are hard enough that he has to let go of her wrists to brace himself on the bed. Tyra presses her palms to the wall above them, arms straight when the power of Tim's thighs start to inch her up the bed every time he slams himself back into her.

Tyra can feel him shuddering above her, his muscles pulling tight as he works both of them to orgasm. He slows his thrusting and her mind comes back to her and she realises the dampness on her neck and shoulder aren't from his mouth and hot breath. He's crying.

She pulls her arms down, slipping them around his back as he slows, wrapping them tightly when his movement stops completely, leaving him hard inside her, both on edge and incomplete as his body shudders with hurt, tears and misery on top of hers.

She wants to speak to him, tell him it will be alright. She wants _him_ to speak to her and tell _her_ everything will be alright, but Tim doesn't communicate feelings with words. If she acknowledges this, he will turn all the hurt on her, his mean streak will focus on her cutting her deeply with his knowledge of her fears. Besides, she knows him well enough not to actually need the words, even if she wants them.

His tears tell her that whatever happened to Jason, whatever broke inside his best friend, has also broken him. Tyra _wants_ to say everything will be alright, to make him believe, but he's telling her with his body that's wrapped around her and softening inside her that nothing will ever be alright again.


End file.
